


Chi

by mycrofts_brolly



Category: Pokemon, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, I don't know what I'm doing, M/M, Mycroft is a dick, Pokemon AU, Slow Burn, tags to be updated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:29:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycrofts_brolly/pseuds/mycrofts_brolly
Summary: After finding an oddity of a Pokémon in an alleyway, Greg Lestrade is thrown into a chaotic mess of a case and tries to figure out exactly what is terrorizing the streets of London. With multiple organizations on the rise and violence rising, can the retired trainer prevent chaos with the help of the Ice Man and some old friends, or will their success result in something far worse than failure?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm starting another work. I just had to! This is not Brit-picked or beta'd and is again, just some rough mobile writing.

Some might have said that Gregory Lestrade was a simple man. Maybe even a stupid one. But none could say he wasn't a caring one. And that was exactly why Lestrade was standing at the mouth of an alley in the middle of the night with only a mildly warm cup of coffee for company. Not that his caring had any reason as to how Gregory had ended up stock still, gazing down into the murky abyss of an alley that threatened to swallow him whole, but it was part of the why he remained there. The how was an entirely separate matter. Still doesn’t make him a smart man, however. 

Greg had stopped mid-step when he heard something, not someone, calling from the darkened alleyway. It wasn't uncommon to hear rattata or pidgeys or other common city dwelling pokemons picking around in the night’s trash, but this call had been something foreign, something unfamiliar. And for someone familiar, by training, with about 800 Pokémon calls, hearing something he didn't recall made Lestrade draw up to the face of the alley. At first, Greg swore that the call had just been the wind kicking up, but it hard ended with several higher, almost metallic notes that easily broke that theory. The call repeated as Greg stood there, the sound breaking towards the end as if the Pokémon making it was badly injured. 

Not thinking it through, Greg set his coffee down to the side to take a few wary steps forwards. His bag hung around his shoulder and swung forwards with the weight of the three poke balls that housed his entire team, a few potions and revives, and a few spare pokeballs should the need arise to catch another Pokémon. And this seemed to be one of those times. He couldn't be more wrong, honestly.

With careful steps, Greg shuffled his way down the otherwise empty alleyway after the memory of the call. His heart hammered in chest, as he was an idiot who didn't seem to be entirely aware of how much danger he was actually putting himself in. The sound of his steps changed on the pavement. Greg paused, glanced down, and saw drops of blood where his shoes were. His throat clenched. 

“Shit.” The detective leaned back, starting to back track from the alley. Something large moved just beyond the dumpsters, knocking over a few bags of garbage as it was startled. Greg flinched, reaching into his bag reflexively to draw out of his team for protection in case the strange Pokémon tried to attack. There was a glistening of streetlight on metal, the clack of claws on the pavement and before Gregory could entirely process what was happening, a large black and yellowish grey blob was knocking him over. 

The next few moments were a blur. Greg’s heart was in his throat, beating wildly and uncontrollably as he shouted and kicked against weight that was there and then suddenly… not. A flash of light blinded Greg for a moment. 

An uneasily loud click filled the alleyway. Panting and out of breath on the bloody concrete, Gregory finally found strength in his worn body to roll to his side and eye the pokeball that was now still and silent in the echoey alley. “What the-” Greg pushed himself up, “Fuck was that?” He had to split the words as he couldn't find the energy to say all five words at once while getting up. The pokeball didn't provide an answer. Eyeing the pokeball like it was on fire and pure diamond at the same time, Gregory took out his standard police issued pokedex to try to scan the ball and see what exactly he had caught. 

“Identification invalid.” The screen, and the obnoxiously prim voice beeped up at him. Greg hissed a few swears before running the scanning light over the ball again. 

“Identification invalid.” Again. “Identification invalid.”

Gregory wasn't even sure what that meant. There was no such thing as an invalid Pokémon identity. Every Pokémon, even the legendaries, had been logged into the databank for both catching and research purposes. The pokedex was clicked off and slipped back into the bag. Useless. 

“What am I to do with you and this mess?” Gregory asked an object a question that it couldn't answer for the second time in five minutes. He scooped up the pokeball, sighing, and slipped it into his bag. It was his now, by rights, even if it was a bit strange and caused his pokedex to glitch out. It was known to happen on occasion, and Gregory was definitely guilty of dropping his dex more than a few times past the recommended replacement required number. Probably a faulty scanner or something. He could get it fixed in the morning. 

The cry of the Pokémon he'd caught was far from Gregory’s mind when he caught sight of the bloodied concrete and shoes. Luckily, Gregory knew just the person who would be interested in some blood samples any day. 

_hey, Sherlock, got some blood samples down on Ayres Street. -Greg_

It was only moments later that a reply came.   
_omw -s_

Knowing he didn't need to wait around for Sherlock, Gregory adjusted his shoulder bag uneasily while glancing around the area one last time. It was odd that the entire area seemed deathly quiet now that whatever had been bleeding out in the alleyway was now caught and stored away in a pokeball. The entire situation was odd, and Gregory was well aware that something didn't add up here, but he was certain there was nothing he could do. With this conclusion, Greg eyed the passing traffic and turned to head further down the street and on towards home, his head full of questions that didn't have answers. 

Arriving home after somehow successfully managing to get a cab, Greg trudged up the stairs of the flat with heavy feet. It was nearly two am and Greg’s worn body wasn't up for staying up much later. Yet, he had to address the issue of the strange Pokémon in the ball that was just casually at the bottom of his work bag with the rest of his team. At the very least Greg would have to apply a few potions or something to keep the thing in a decent state of health. 

“Alright, let's get a look at you.” Sighing, and dreading the possibilities of what could be in that pokeball, Greg pulled the ball out and clicked it open. 

After a brief flash of light, a Pokémon almost as tall as Greg is standing in the middle of the barren bachelor’s pad. Greg’s heart twisted while it hammered away in his chest, nerves burning up as he took in the sight of the beast in front of him. It was odd. The beast had a bulky metallic mask that constricted its face and the feathery plume on its head. Its breathing was labored, as if the mask it was wearing was preventing it from breathing correctly. Cautiously, the large beast glanced around, wheezing as it breathed and took in its surroundings, and Greg almost took a wary step back as the large creature let out a loud snort. 

“Easy, there.” Greg murmured, his hair on end as the beast let out a rumbling growl in his direction when he took a step forwards. It eyed the shoulder bag, another snarling noise rising from behind the mask. Getting the hint, Greg removed the bag with a slow, steady movement, and put it on the worn in couch. There was an ease in the tension. The beast’s balance wavered as if it was losing the ability to stand up. It was then that Greg spotted the multiple lacerations and deep gouges that covered the beast’s sides and mismatched legs, “I've got something to help that.” He stated simply, reaching into the shoulder bag to draw out several potions he'd been keeping in there for the need arose. The need has certainly arisen now. 

The beast warily eyed Gregory. Apparently Greg’s charms weren't working on the injured Pokémon. They rarely worked on people, anyways, and he shouldn't have expected them to work now. 

Greg took another step forwards. Reacting, the beast pulled its head back and glared down at the detective. “Hey, I'm trying to help. You're alright here.” The beast didn't seem to immediately react but it did lower its head down to a less threatening level. “These will help those wounds.” He uncapped the first potion. Pulling back, the beast lowered its armored head down to get a better look at the potion in Greg’s hand and sniffed at it once before making a rough metallic noise that almost sounded like it was giving Greg the go-ahead. Greg approached the first wounded area and carefully sprayed the medicine into it. The beast let out a noise that surprised Greg as it was a low, appreciative growl. 

“See? That's all there is to it.” Greg said softly while continuing to use the potions he had on the beast’s wounds. The beast visibly relaxed, giving Greg the chance to get a better look at it. Everything about this beast was off and looked like it had been thrown haphazardly together. Its fin on its back was out of place with the thorny, bird like front legs and the back were plated, dog like legs. It had a collar of feathery fur that adorned its neck that was matted just beneath the odd copper and green mask. “You are something.” Talking to himself and the beast by extension while finishing up with the potions. Most of the wounds were healed now, thankfully, and Greg finally took a step back to give the beast its space, “Well, we’re stuck with each other now. Gotta give you a name if I'm to bring you to work and what not… just to carry you in I need to get you registered in some form…” 

The beast’s large grey eyes narrowed. Chuckling, Greg ran his hand through his hair, “You remind me of a term from school. Chimera.” There was another low noise from the beast that made Greg pause, “How about Chi?” Snorting again, the beast came off as indifferent to the choice of its name but wasn't indifferent to the pokè kibble sitting in the bowl in the kitchen. “Chi it is then.” 

Chi glanced at Greg through the mask and then trotted over to the food dish with gusto. Greg stared at it, wondering just where his common sense had gone. Or how Chi was even going to eat with that mask on. 

Across the city and on the other side of a screen, a well suited man smiled and leaned back in his plush computer chair.


	2. Old Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grumpy as hell DI heads to work miserable and is late, but ends up having to deal with the last thing he wanted to see. 
> 
> I'm sorry for any formatting or hilariously bad typing errors, I've read through it a few times but mobile writing is not the best. Cheers!

There was a heavy, warm weight on Greg’a chest that was nearly suffocating. Stifling a yawn, Greg woke and tried to push the mound off of him but was immediately rewarded with a snarl that shook the bed. 

Opening his eyes to see a very grumpy looking mountain of dark fur and silvery feathers, Greg huffed. He'd forgotten to put Chi back into its ball. “Morning to you too, loaf.” Greg muttered, reaching over to his nightstand to grab his mobile. Chi didn't seem to mind the movement, instead tracking the movement of Greg’s hand like an oversized cat. 

“You are one odd- For fuck’s sake.” Greg hissed at the sight of the time on the mobile’s screen. It was well past the start of his next shift at one PM. “Off. Chi. Off.” He didn't stop to question why the massive creature had been curled up on him like a large housecat. The mysterious Pokémon slid off the bed with a disagreeing grunt. Greg followed suit with a panicked pace to his steps.

Chi sat in the corner of the room, dark eyes silently judging every move the DI made to get ready for the day. 

Two cups of crappy rushed coffee and a fight with a tie later, Greg grabbed his satchel from the corner of the bare counter and turned to Chi, which had been following him around the flat all morning. “You can't come with me.” He muttered, shrugging his jacket over his shoulders. Chi let out a quiet noise. 

“No. No, no, no.” Greg admonished as Chi made a cry that could only have been a whimper. If a noise that sounded slightly like a rusty cheese grater rattling in a dishwasher counted as a whimper, that was. “You can't. I have to register you as an authorized party member, and that requires you to be identified on the pokedex. You don't exist.” 

Chi’s feathers ruffled as it cried out again and nudged Greg’s bag with the front of the mask contraption. 

“I could get fired!” Greg protested but his stone cold walls towards breaking the rules were crumbling down. “You'll be stuck in a ball all day.” He muttered as he crossed through the empty living room area to grab the pokeball from its spot on the table, “Alright, alright.” Clicking the ball open, Greg recalled Chi, who let out an excited squawk as it disappeared into it. 

A frustratingly slow ride to the Yard later, the DI took a rare opportunity and flashed his badge to pass through the back entrance. He was already almost an hour late and running on low in terms of caffeine. Passing through the first few floors with a few half assed waves and more than a few scowls, Greg finally managed to reach his floor. He wasn't looking forwards to the scowling team he was bound to run into. 

“Lestrade!” 

Even though it was two pm, it was too early for that voice. For that person. 

“No. Nope. Not here.” Greg called over his shoulder as he rushed to his office. He could hear the frantic steps rushing after him. “Not now, Sherlock! I haven't even gotten to my office yet. I haven't even-”

Sherlock huffed in annoyance, “It's not about a case, Lestrade. My brother-” 

Stopping with his hand on the doorknob to his office, Greg turned to face Sherlock, who looked like he was about to burst at the seams with frustration, “What about your brother? We just finished the last case, closed and done. His meddling with my cases is over. For now at least.” Opening the door, Greg turned as he stepped in to face the other Holmes. “Fucking hell.” He went to shut the door without entering. 

Something stopped the door from shutting, and when Greg whipped his head around to see why, he spotted Mycroft’s posh shoe stuck between the door and doorframe. 

“You were saying?” Mycroft’s prim voice had an edge to it. There was just no winning with the Holmes, and certainly no such thing as shutting a door in their face. 

Greg grumbled, pushing the door of his office open, “That I was tired of your meddling in my cases.” Mycroft shut the door behind him and Greg watched a clearly annoyed Sherlock head off to bother one of the interns. It was bound to be a great day if this was the footing it started off on. 

“I do not meddle. Meddling is for children.” The tart reply came from the government man as he systematically began shutting the blinds on the DI’s office windows. It would have been alarming if Mycroft didn't try to be so goddamn imposing and intimidating every single time that he came in. Now whenever Mycroft went through these ‘setting the stage’ steps, Greg just got frustrated and fed up. It took way too long. 

Snorting, Gregory set his bag down and took the chair at his desk, “You and Sherlock act like children all time. It's a fitting term.” That earned him an icy stare from the Ice Man. “Easy, Mycroft. Didn't your mother ever warn you that your face could get stuck like that? You have appearances to keep.” Mycroft rolled his eyes while setting his umbrella against the door handle. No one was getting in, nothing was getting out. This routine was almost complete. All that was left was Mycroft’s obsessive bug check, and then whatever Mycroft was here for could be discussed. 

“My appearance does not concern a divorced silver haired DI, Detective Inspector.” Mycroft pulled out a device and began waving it about like a magic wand. It couldn't be clearer that he didn't care what Greg thought of him as he appeared to waltz about the room conducting an orchestra. 

As Mycroft continued his scan of the room, Greg found his attention dragged to the man’s shoulder bag. He'd always wondered about the party that Mycroft kept- if it was full of valuable Pokémon or ones that would make Greg just a tad bit more scared of him. He'd never seen a single one, and partially hoped he never would have to, but it was a curious thing. This train of thought continued for a few more minutes while Mycroft wrapped up the sweep, and Greg snapped to attention as soon he heard the device slip back into Mycroft’s pocket. 

Greg cleared his throat, “So, why are you here, Mycroft? We both know you despise field work, and this definitely isn't your office.” He slipped his satchel to the ground under the desk as Mycroft suddenly crossed the small space. With the distance closed between them and Mycroft’s sharp eyes fixed on him, Greg finally felt the imposing shiver race up his back as the government man leaned over his desk to study him for a moment. 

Pulling away from the table with a soft snort, Mycroft folded his arms, “It has recently come to my attention that you may be of some aid to a recently reopened investigation.” 

“Reopened investigation? I haven't been briefed on any being reopened…” It was always the oddest circumstances that brought Mycroft to this office, beyond Sherlock’s occasional antics. Greg wasn't even sure to which case Mycroft could be referring to.

“It's not officially reopened.” Mycroft clarified, taking a seat in one of the well worn chairs on the other side of the desk, “I’m sure you remember the group referred to as ‘Team Rocket’ from when we were younger.” Greg nodded but didn't dare to speak as Mycroft continued, “Good. You served on the team that helped bring in a large majority of the grunts and the shadier trainers, and unfortunately one of their underground groups has been suspected of a break-in.” 

Greg huffed slightly, running his hand along the edge of his collar. “Mycroft, I am not the trainer I once was. I couldn't go after a bunch of young trainers with god knows what Pokémon now. Much less violence involved ones. Times were a bit easier back when I joined the service.” He glanced down to the photo on the corner of his desk, which Mycroft immediately grabbed. 

Mycroft studied it for a moment, “You were only one tier down from global champion. And you were only nineteen. You helped take down several large organizations, if the records kept in my office’s reserves are correct.” 

The faded picture in the frame bored into Greg’s eyes. There was his first competitive team, raised from eggs and trained over a few years. “That's… Things have changed, Mycroft. I couldn't take on Anderson, let alone a grunt from a team that nearly buried me six feet under last time.” His attention settled on the only Pokémon he still had with him, and Greg felt a pang of sharp emotion, “I gave most of the team to other promising trainers or to my sister’s kids. I only have Arcanine now, with a few of the Yard’s suggested partners. My team was considered overpowered for this line of work.”

“Overpowered? Of course it was. You were seen as a threat to upper management then, but now they've downgraded you to one of the worst trainers.” Mycroft replied while setting the photo back so that faced Greg directly. Prick.

“No, I chose to let my team go after they told me they were too strong. They would've been a risk in the field to myself, my investigating team, and anyone nearby. But in the end, I was sick of it all. The fighting, the constant challenges. Even over thirty years later some of things I saw and heard unnerve me, Mycroft. I didn't want that. I don't want that. I only ever wanted to help, so I came here.” Greg folded his arms, reaching for his satchel, “I can't help you, Mycroft. And if you don't get out now, I'll let Arcanine out and I'm sure he'd love to show you the door.”

Mycroft’s eyebrows raised at that notion, “That's against Yard regulations, Detective. You wouldn't.” Admittedly, Greg wouldn't and it showed on his face with a slow hesitation as Greg set the satchel back down under the desk. “Good DI.” The patronizing tone of Mycroft's voice cut deep into Greg’s pride and Greg put his feet up on his desk in a brief show of rebellion. “As I was saying,” Picking up the conversation again, Mycroft leered across the desk, “I require your help with Team Rocket before they become too large of an issue for the Yard to handle. You'll be receiving payment for your cooperation, as always, and you will have the resources you require at your disposal along with a permit for a new team if need be.”

There it was. No negotiating or with the pompous arse or refusing his ideas. Greg knew this. “Fine. Alright.” Greg mumbled stiffly, removing his feet from the desk as Mycroft’s lips curled into a cruel smile, “What do I have to do?” 

The man across from the desk that was more brimstone and ice than man stood. Regarding Greg with a faint air of disdain, Mycroft glanced to the DI, “I'll be sending a car at eight tonight to take you to be briefed on the situation further. Try not to be late. I do not have time for all these… petty details.” Gathering his umbrella, Mycroft left the room without another word. 

Fucking hell. It was just the beginning of a glorious day, wasn't it? Greg sighed, not even having enough tolerance for the man left to watch him leave. Instead, he opened his desk drawer and pulled out all twenty or so forms he still left to finish up from the last case. Muttering, he set to work to finish the paperwork before someone else decided to lighten up his day.


End file.
